Robert Hulseman, Inventor of the now ubiquitous red beverage holder, is dead after drinking a 16-once cup of trucker urine he thought was last night’s beer. He is survived by daughters Patricia and Margaret, who both happen to be D-cups.

Hulseman was born in 1932 in Chicago and as a teenager contracted polio. The experience affected him so profoundly he made a pledge that if he ever recovered, he’d create a red plastic cup.

Introduced in the mid-1970s, the Solo Cup quickly became the receptacle of choice for growing pot seedlings and getting teenagers drunk enough to put their penises inside apples pies, something the devout Christian was probably thrilled about.

Over the the years, the inventor was known for his generosity and devotion to the Catholic church. Translation: he gave them a bunch of fucking cups.

In 2005, the New York Museum of Modern Art added a Solo Cup Traveler’s Lid to its permanent collection, mostly out of concern that modern art didn’t already have a bad enough reputation.

And in 2011 his red cup was immortalized in a Toby Keith song. Which I have no jokes about because I refuse to listen to it.

Hulseman was preceded in death by his devoted wife Sheila, whose coffin lid was designed to accommodate extra foam and reduce dribbling at the rim.

The deceased requested his ashes be left on top of his neighbor’s cinderblock fence in an easily stackable container shared with laundry change and Margot Kidder’s toenail clippings.

Robert Ettinger, the cryonics pioneer who advocated freezing the dead with the hope that medical technology would someday enable them to pay taxes again, is dead at the age of 92 after attempting to defrost an erection he had back in the ’60s.

Ettinger first came up with the idea for cryonics in World War II during the Battle of the Bulge when he saw a bunch of frozen bodies and thought, “I can make money off of that, sure.”

Nancy Reagan, the controlling, pill-popping child-beating matriarch of a sick, fucked-up family who regularly stole Valium and diuretics from each other; and proud wife to a president who once declared ketchup a vegetable before ultimately becoming one, is now dead of complications resulting from a “ruptured Gipper.” Or in medical terms: congestive heartless failure.

(Please note: the freakin' book contains HUNDREDS of obits,
but obviously not some of the most recent ones published
in this blog.)

According to witnesses, moments after she fell ill Nancy uttered her last words: “Fire the fucking astrologer.”

Though death was officially declared on March 6th, doctors say her soul probably “just said no” to life the second she decided to go into acting.

When reached for comment, friend Tom Brokaw ignored most of the facts and said something insultingly stupid.

Reagan redefined the role of First Lady, taking on such important responsibilities as ignoring AIDS, hoarding flower vases and criminalizing entire neighborhoods of black people.

But perhaps her greatest challenge came the day Ronald Reagan was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. For now at long last, she finally had the complete control needed to exact obsessive revenge fantasies upon her empty, flesh-robot husband as partial payback for all those years her stepdad withheld the love she was never emotionally equipped to receive to begin with. But, she was a snazzy dresser!

After her husband’s death, Nancy took on the role of vigilant caretaker for his legacy at the Reagan Library, where she could often seen dusting off “the book.”

Family members can console themselves with the thought that Nancy’s now up in heaven, still refusing to help Rock Hudson get treatment.

Jan Crouch, who 43 years ago co-founded the world’s largest Christian television network with nothing more than a pocket full of hope, hair resembling the helmet Rick Moranis wore is Spaceballs, and $30,000 in fraudulently secured donations, is now crouching sideways six-feet under a praying mantis.

Crouch reportedly died of a stroke. When reached for comment a spokesman for the network refused to return a phone call because there wasn’t any money involved.

Jan Bethany first met Paul Crouch, her future husband, in the mid 1950s. An occurrence many atheists cite as the only real proof Satan exists.

After struggling in ministries in South Dakota and Michigan, the couple decided to move to Los Angeles in the early 1960s after a source tipped them off that Jed Clampett might be a good mark.

As the years passed, it was clear their union was a Christian match made in heaven: a minister’s daughter, whose dogs live in a $100,000 motor home, married to a pastor who’s fucking the male employees.

The Crouch Trinity Broadcasting Network was touch and go at first. But by the late 1980s their telethons raised more money than Jerry Lewis’ muscular dystrophy telethons, mainly because the couple looked like they needed more medical help.

Crouch’s last request was that her network continue stealing from low-income Americans.

Phyllis Schlafly, the conservative icon who proved by example that women can be huge assholes too, is now dead after doing all the damage she could possibly do in 92 years.

A champion of traditional, stay-at-home roles for women, Schlafly ran for public office twice, wrote 27 books, and never stayed at home. Plus, her son’s gay.

Schlafly once declared that married women “can’t get raped” because by marrying, a woman has consented to sex. And by marrying Bill Cosby, a woman has also consented to a lifetime of wondering what the hell is in her drink.

At the age of 24, the struggling librarian “consented to sex” with a man from a wealthy banking family, allowing her to take on the traditional role of a hypocrite marrying for money.

Schlafly opposed the ERA movement because she believed it would only be a matter of time until Americans started demanding co-ed bathrooms, reproductive rights and gay marriage. Oh my god, she was right!

A vocal Trump supporter, Schlafly said she didn’t think a female should be president because, quote, “Our greatest presidents have all been men.” Which pretty much is the same as saying, “Our greatest men have all been men.”

But in the end, Schlafly’s most cogent and valid argument against giving women equal rights was her very existence. And so she died.

Mrs. Schlafly is survived by six children. So I guess she really loved a “deep consenting.” Plus, her son’s gay.

Ted Cruz, the passionate and effective fighter for ineffective government, medieval economic theory and the Constitution as defined by Nazis, is dead after forty-five years of poorly imitating human life.

His daughter reportedly found the Republican presidential candidate in their home, drowning in a bathtub filled with his own cooties.

Paramedics tried frantically to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but the oxygen refused to go in on account of it being, quote, “too creeped out.”

Cruz’s mom is of Irish descent and his father is Cuban, so every Saint Patrick’s Day he gets drunk and trims his wife’s bush.

In 1974 when Ted was just five years-old his father abandoned the family and moved to Texas. Yes, it was THAT bad.

Cruz often told the story of how his father escaped Cuba with only $100 in his underwear. As Senator he took inspiration from that story to shut down the government and nearly flush the economy down the toilet.

In 1995, Ted Cruz graduated from Harvard Law School, answering the age-old question: “What could make people hate lawyers even more?”

As Senator from Texas, Cruz’s greatest achievement was uniting both sides of the aisle in their universal disrespect for Canada.

The deceased requested that the stick up his ass be used to plant his body outside Planned Parenthood in order to act as a deterrent to sex.

Like this:

Roger Ailes, the half-sentient fat-pyramid whose fetish for garter belts, locked office doors, and exposing “red, raw hamburger meat” to horrified employees lead to a rewarding $40 million golden parachute as head of FOX News, is dead of shame after learning Steve Doocy got to feel up Megyn Kelly without his permission.

Born in the cretaceous era, Roger Ailes grew up in the small factory town of Warren, Ohio, where the ambitious youth hoped to one day follow in the footsteps of his abusive father.

As a boy he was often hospitalized for what doctors first thought was hemophilia. They later determined the real cause was that his blood was just too creeped out to stay inside him.

Ailes is credited with the “Orchestra Pit Theory” of sensationalist television which he summed up as quote, “You have two guys on a stage and one guy says, ‘I have a solution to the Middle East problem,’ and the other guy falls in the orchestra pit. Who do you think is going to be on the evening news? And who do you think will get to extort blowjobs and rape underage models?”

Ailes’ resignation at FOX came within days of Debbie Wasserman Schultz stepping down as DNC chairwoman, which begs the question: “Have you ever seen these two together?”

Early this month, former Fox & Friends star, Gretchen Carlson, filed a harassment suit against Ailes charging him with fostering an atmosphere that made Carlson a “blond female prop.” The charge was particularly damning until somebody found the phrase “blond female prop” in the “goals” section of her LinkedIn page.

In response, Ailes called Carlson’s suit, “retaliatory for the network’s decision not to renew her contract after she refused to fuck me and anyone I told her to fuck.”

Ailes wasn’t just a powerhouse media consultant and television executive. He also had a sensitive side and liked to experiment with poetry. One favorite was this gem he’d regularly recite to the delight of new interns:

“You know if you want to play with the big boys,

You have to lay with the big boys.” (mic drop)

Dedicated to his beloved business until he very end, Ailes’ last words of wisdom were reserved for his nurse:

“If you want to make it in the TV business, you’re going to have to fuck me. And you’re going to have to fuck anyone I tell you to fuck. Now fetch my diaper.”

Burial arrangements haven’t been made yet because Ailes had to fire his undertaker for refusing to fuck his dead body.

Cause of death was undetermined, but the legal consensus is the universe had “just cause” to terminate his life.

Scalia died at a west Texas hunting ranch run by members of the International Order of St. Hubert, Patron saint of hunters, of whom Scalia was the most prominent member who could no longer find his member.

St. Hubert’s martyrdom is a particularly inspiring tale of struggle and faith. After his tormentors stuffed him with a devilishly mouthwatering selection of Pork Loin in a bed of Guava and Plum Sauce followed by Almond Mole Chicken, Viceroy’s Cake and a delicious homemade ice cream, Hubert barely had the strength to cross the spacious veranda and make it back to his complementary luxury quarters where he quickly fell onto a plush pillow-topped bed and succumbed to the demonic enticement of a gentle sleep.

St. Hubert is also the patron saint of metal workers and smelters. And right now Scalia isn’t smelting very good.

Those at the ranch remembered Scalia as a stalwart defender of their Texas way of life, as well as the guy who always rushed the buffet and hogged the toilet.

Responding quickly to the news, President Obama ordered all flags to be flown at “half caring.”

The president went on to reassure an alarmed nation that “now all we have to do is wait for half of Congress to drop dead.”

Those who knew him say Scalia was a man of varied tastes, with a fondness for poker, opera, and forcing poison through the veins of innocent people on death row.

The centerpiece of Scalia’s judicial philosophy was his commitment to the doctrine of originalism, which sought to interpret the Constitution as it was understood at a time when women were considered less important than goats.

Funeral services for his body included a ten-hour repose in the Supreme Court building not far from where Clarence Thomas has been sleeping for the last twenty-six years.

Dr. Wayne Dyer, internationally renowned motivational guru and one of the bestselling authors of all time, died Saturday after 75 tedious years of enduring his own bullshit.

The cause of death was not immediately disclosed, although it probably had something to do with the universe finally mastering the art of manifesting its incredible force by killing somebody.

When reached for comment, friend Tony Robbins said his death was, “But a transition: from the living, to the mystical realm of probate and estate division.”

The author, whose title of “Doctor” held less validity than the title of “Skipper” did on Gilligan’s Island, was found “dead not dying with the music still in him.”

Last year, Mind Body Spirit magazine ranked Dyer as the eighth most spiritually influential person in the world after Mickey Mouse and Hitler.

A posting by Dyer’s family on his Facebook page read: “Wayne believed there was a spiritual answer to every problem. Except parking. Please repost this seven times if you really care about recycling.”

Dyer’s most notable fans included Ellen DeGeneres and Oprah Winfrey, who embraced his idea that the power of positive thinking was the foundation for personal fulfillment. And when that doesn’t work, there’s always dog torture and chronic overeating.

Dyer requested his remains be buried where his three ex-wives can’t get at them.

Advertising whiz Rudy R. Perz, creator of the iconic Pillsbury Doughboy, pinched his final loaf this week after failing frantically to pop a fresh breadstick.

Upon hearing the news, Liz Nordlie, President of Pillsbury, released a statement saying, “We paid that man off years ago. We owe him nothing.”

Under pressure to produce a mascot representing bleached flower, thiamin mononitrate sodium acid pyrophosphate aluminum and yeast, Perz created his first three-dimensional Doughboy doll of clay in 1965 at the cost of $16,000, or roughly what you’d pay a surgeon to remove half your large intestine.

The pudgy man of dough became such a hit, it was once cited by Brian Wilson as the main motivation behind releasing “Pet Sounds.”

To distinguish the Doughboy from the actual rolls of dough, Perz gave it a blush, a scarf, a chef’s hat, two big blue eyes and a warm chuckle. As for the penis, it gets amputated every time you slam the can against a kitchen table.

When the first doughboy was filmed using stop-motion, it came as a shock to many rural Pennsylvanians who assumed it was the ghost of Rick Santorum’s dead fetus.

His chuckle of “Hee hee!” when poked in the stomach became his trademark, after other catch phrases were rejected including, “No please no!” when someone bit off his head, and “What the, huh?” when repeatedly poked in the ass.

Darrell Winfield, one of the most recognizable Marlboro Men, primarily because he was the only one who lived long enough to get recognized, is dead after a prolonged illness that probably started 50 years ago.

Although he lived to the relatively old age of 85, doctors still caution that had he not smoked, he could have made it to 300.

Asked what life might have been like if he hadn’t become the Marlboro Man, Winfield answered plainly: Life would have basically been the same. But without all that money and pussy. And all those cars and the four houses. And all that pussy.

Friends described him as a “man’s man,” who just liked working on his ranch every day, lighting cigarettes and crouching a lot. And then of course there was all that pussy.

Winfield was so authentic, he often provided the cattle and horses that appeared in the commercials. They all have lung cancer now.

Winfield requested his remains be lit on fire with a burning twig and marketed to children.

Like this:

Melvin Gordon, chief executive of Tootsie Roll Industries, is dead after more than half a century spent desperately trying to pass a sticky, brown log that refused to melt even during the hot summer months.

Shocked family members say they discovered his iconic, oblong-shaped body stuck to a five year-old’s retainer.

The first Tootsie Roll was produced way back in 1896 by Brooklyn inventor Leo Hirschfield. Twenty-five years later he committed suicide by shooting himself in the stomach. That’s not a joke.

The Tootsie Roll company now produces 64 million Tootsie Rolls a day. Experts calculate that if every Tootsie Roll ever produced were placed end-to-end, it would be the setup to a good joke.

Confectioners agree the most famous Tootsie Roll ad, “How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?” may never be answered. But perhaps the most pertinent question facing science is why it always tastes like a cardboard anus.

The real answer to the lick question, the company writes on its website, “Depends on a variety of factors such as the size of your mouth, the amount of saliva, and how much of your pancreas is still working.”

Gordon asked that his body parts be individually wrapped and twisted at each end.

Camille Cosby, one of the few select females ever allowed to naturally fall asleep around her husband, is dead after collapsing face-down in a bowl of pudding and drowning in a sea of JELL-O™ lies.

When reached for comment, her husband could only utter a half-hearted “Hey hey hey” followed by an equally tepid, “Greeza-maza hahahaha!”

Camille Olivia Hanks first met William Cosby in 1963 on a blind date. “Blind” because she blacked out after the first ten minutes.

The two married less than a year later. Back then it was a simpler time, she later recalled, when the only way you could drug a woman was to apply a homeopathic blister of cantharides and cataplasms to her feet, perhaps supplemented by wheat poultices upon the neck along with a hot tonic mixture of molasses, butter and vinegar, quickly followed up with a vinegar and sage tea for gargling, or more commonly, a tartar emetic.

Just like her husband’s first sitcom “The Bill Cosby Show,” their fifty-year marriage was unique among celebrity relationships as it did not use a laugh track. Although Vic Tayback did star as Calvin the mechanic.

The deceased leaves behind more than 20 assault victims “whom many in the media have given a pass” and weren’t properly “vetted.”

Richard Bruce “Dick” Cheney, the only human capable of using another person’s heart without caring who it previously belonged to, has finally died after years of being dead.

The former Philip Morris spokesmodel, who only recently called the Senate report on Bush-era torture “a crock” and “hooey,” is now buried under “a rock” where gophers are finding him “chewy.”

Still grieving, his daughters refused to accept their father’s demise, and instead referred to it as “Enhanced death.”

As a youth growing up in Wyoming, the plucky Cheney quickly showed his mettle by earning five military deferments and two DWIs.

He subsequently flunked out of Yale twice, inspiring his later Congressional vote against the creation of the U.S. Department of Education.

In 2011, Cheney published his biography “In My Time: A Personal and Political Memoir,” in which he described himself as “the most powerful President in American History.”

Over the years he had five heart attacks, at least seven cardiovascular procedures and bypasses involving stents, grafting and implants, and at one point, was outfitted with an artificial blood pump leaving him without a pulse for a year and a half – but still, he never got a dinner.

The deceased requested his remains be buried next to proof of Saddam Hussein’s WMDs so nobody can ever find them.

S. Truett Cathy, the Southern entrepreneur who in one lifetime transformed a small, hometown business into a global symbol of homophobia and cancerous lab rats, is now undergoing death conversion therapy.

Chick-fil-A announced Cathy’s demise but refused to disclose the exact cause explaining, “It would take too long to list all the ingredients.”

Truett Cathy is credited with inventing the first fast-food chicken sandwich. It may not sound like much, but it sure beats taking the rap for a series of mysterious smothering deaths in the early ‘50s.

In 1964, Cathy presented First Lady, Lady Bird Johnson, with a Chick-fil-A sandwich during her visit to Georgia. One year later 2,000 American soldiers died in Vietnam. Coincidence?

The devout Southern Baptist became famous for closing his stores on Sundays so employees could spend more time at home with their families, and in the process, learn to hate life.

The company’s official statement of corporate purpose says that the business exists, “To glorify God by being a faithful steward of all that is entrusted to us. And to make him really fat.”

Don Levine, the Hasbro toy executive credited with doing more to distort America’s concept of war than Bob Crane’s errant penis, is now being outflanked by an army of ants.

Levine’s body was found “four klicks out” in his older sister’s bedroom, his nails painted pink and his torso draped mockingly in a garish, pistachio green gown.

Born in 1928, the 86 year-old recently attributed his longevity to the fact that he never once set foot in a VA Hospital.

Levine first got the idea for the miniature figure while serving in the Korean War after he caught several Chinese soldiers hiding in his helmet.

G.I. Joe hit the shelves in time for the 1964 Christmas shopping season and soon millions of Americans were spending $4 apiece on the fake soldiers. No wait, that’s what they were spending on the real soldiers.

The doll boasted 21 moving parts, including a pair of flexible shoulders John McCain would one day come to envy.

But the Vietnam War raged on and interest in the dolls waned. And sadly, parents soon discovered that when they brought their G.I. Joes home, there were no parades.

As the public shied away from military-related toys, Hasbro countered with the popular “Upper GI Joe,” whose main talent was being able to avoid combat due to digestive problems.

Levine requested his body be laid to rest on a mattress of Kleenex tissues crammed inside an old shoebox.

Cal Worthington, the legendary Ford dealer who once boasted he’d “eat a bug” if you bought a car, is now getting eaten by bugs after buying the farm.

Born in 1920, Worthington grew up in the stark poverty of the Oklahoma Dust Bowl with no one to confide in but his dog “Sand.”

Things got so bad during the Depression, the young Worthington had to quit school and help support his family by selling babies to hobos.

During World War II, he flew 29 missions over Germany in a 1941 B-17 Flying Fortress. You know, a lot of times Boeing would register and sell a B-17 and for some reason the deal wouldn’t go through and now they’re stuck with a used plane when it’s only got a few miles on it. Look at it check it, here’s a dandy little bomber that’ll sell for about half what it’s worth new. This is where your friends are.

After the war, Worthington built a cult following into the biggest used-car dealership west of the Mississippi with his weird collection of freaky circus animals posing as pets. But to anyone south of the Mason-Dixon line, it was just another Tuesday.

The cause of death has not yet been determined, though experts speculate he may have been suffering from feline AIDS.

His ad campaigns were so popular, the phrase “Go see Cal” became part of the vocabulary of every Southern Californian. And once they read the full lease agreement, so did the phrase “Go see a lawyer.”

By 1979, Worthington was worth hundreds of millions of dollars. It was at this point he decided to divorce his wife Barbara and trade her in for a newer model with bigger headlights.

You can find Cal Worthington’s memorial off the 405 Freeway at 2850 Bellflower Blvd. in Long Beach. All he asks is that you see his grave first. Come on down. It’s just a big ‘ol giant, friendly supermarket of death. He’s got acres and acres and acres of death. Casket’s open till midnight every night. See ya here!

Robert Ettinger, the cryonics pioneer who advocated freezing the dead with the hope that medical technology would someday enable them to pay taxes again, is dead at the age of 92 after attempting to defrost an erection he had back in the ’60s.

Ettinger first came up with the idea for cryonics in World War II during the Battle of the Bulge when he saw a bunch of frozen bodies and thought, “I can make money off of that, sure.”

Ettinger founded his Cryonics Institute back in 1976 during the height of disco, a time when anyone would have been justified freezing half the music industry just to make them shut the fuck up.

For its services, the Cryonics Institute charges customers $28,000. But if you bring your own tin foil, “5 bucks.”

The first person Ettinger deposited at the Institute was his mother, Rhea. This was followed by ten years of Ettinger depositing her Social Security checks.

He also froze the bodies of his two wives, Mae and Elaine. They’re stored next to a sign reading, “WARNING – Do Not Open.”

Ettinger’s last wishes were to someday be brought back to life as a 92 year-old man with a lot of really serious health problems.

David Reynolds, the metal manufacturing executive who gave America aluminum foil, has finally wrapped up his life in a lead-lined coffin.

The 96 year-old was found suffocated inside a used Quaker Oats box after his son forgot to poke enough air holes in the foil cover.

Reynolds was cousin to tobacco king R.J. Reynolds, who sold the first aluminum filtered cigarette with the slogan, “Come To Where The Flavor Is. And Then Forget Where You Are Because Now You Have Alzheimer’s.”

An expert salesman, Reynolds liked to arrange public demonstrations to personally show customers how to preserve leftovers with his product, often enlisting the help of his wife to wrap his sausage.

A stern disciplinarian, Reynolds was known to keep employees in line by yelling, “Don’t forget who wears the foil hat at this company!”

Reynolds requested his remains be covered in order to prevent splatters, protect against over-browning, and help keep his body parts moist.

Huell Howser, the iconically jovial star of public television’s, “California’s Gold,” is now ironically under six feet of “California’s Dirt.”

When he first learned he had cancer, the folksy travel guide reportedly shoved a microphone in his doctor’s face and asked how much the MRI machine weighed.

Witnesses who found his body were heard to exclaim, “Oh my gosh!” and “Holy cow!”

Doctors refused to reveal any more details about his death other than to say “he probably won’t be getting amazed by anything anymore.”

Friends say Howser probably could have survived longer had he not taken so much time out from chemotherapy to do a month-long series on lint.

Family members are consoling themselves with the thought that Howser and his microphone are now up in heaven, interviewing – aw who am I foolin’? He’s lost forever in the dark void of nothingness we’re all doomed to inhabit once our bodies succumb to the inevitable ravages of mortality. He went avocado picking with a DOG!

Howser requested a portion of his ashes be dumped into the great system of California aqueducts so his remains can trace the route the water follows through the huge pipes, tunnels, canals and pumping plants, and along the way meet the men and women who are carrying on the proud tradition of bringing water to Southern California. He went avocado picking with a DOG!

H. Norman Schwarzkopf, the general who became famous for restoring pride to Americans by reminding them what it was like to crush a nation armed with shitty weapons and even shittier troops, is dead of heart failure after a chunk of plaque failed to meet a U.N. deadline to leave his left ventricle.

The burly general had been living in Florida for several years in quiet retirement, aside from some embarrassing episodes when tourists mistook him for a manatee and tried to feed him cabbage.

When asked for his reaction, 88 year-old George H.W. Bush tried to pour a bowl of Jello into his bedpan.

Modest, but not known for his intellectual prowess, Schwarzkopf once said, “It doesn’t take a hero to order men into battle,” adding, “because a hero is a sandwich…Right?”

Once, when asked why his troops called him “Stormin’” Norman, he replied, “Because it rhymes with Norman. I dunno, get the fuck outta my face.” He was funny that way.

Schwarzkopf was treated for prostate cancer in 1993 and became a national spokesman for campaigns against the disease. Unfortunately, those campaigns usually involved massive aerial bombardment followed by a brutal, two-pronged commando assault thrusting deep up the patient’s ass.

Schwarzkopf requested his remaining life force be run out of Kuwait, boxed into a kill zone, and systematically incinerated on the Highway of Death – along with a busload of women and children.

Porcello’s body was found face down in a vat of milk, his Nutter covered with Butter and Doo all over his Dad. Plus, he had cancer.

No one can confirm the true origin of the word “Oreo,” but many believe it was derived from the sound people make when they find out they need dialysis. “Ohhr-eo!”

Porcello invented many Nabisco snack products, including SnackWells, which are currently in danger of contamination due to Fracking.

At the factory, Porcello was known as “Mr. Oreo.” But at home, he was still known as “Mr. Oreo.” There really wasn’t much to this guy.

In 2011, Nabisco tried selling Oreos to Poland, but it was too hard to ship them with the cream on the outside of the cookie.

Interesting fact: The moon is 238,855 miles away, right? Did you know if you stacked every Oreo ever made, one on top of the other, you’d first have to remove half of them from Elvis Presley’s impacted colon?

The deceased requested the top be carefully twisted off his coffin so that generations of children could gaze in wonder at his cream-filled kidneys.

Eugene Polley, inventor of the wireless television remote control, is no longer in control of anything.

Polley died in Downers Grove, Ill of natural causes, if such a thing was ever possible in Downers Grove.

Small and frail, the elderly Polley alarmed family members late Tuesday night after getting lost in the couch. Medical examiners were quick to note dog-chew marks on Polley’s torso and a sticky film of hummus or something all over his face.

Invented in 1955, Polley’s Flash-Matic remote worked like a flashlight and was shaped like a snub-nosed revolver, something many Americans would later shove in their mouths after watching eight hours of shitty westerns.

Sadly, the 96 year-old died before he had a chance to finish his most important invention: a remote control for his diaper.

Polley’s family expect him to be buried sometime next week. That is, if anybody can get off their fat ass and stop watching TV long enough to do something.

Polley requested four photoelectric cells be implanted in his scrotum so when Jesus returns to earth, the light from his vengeful sword will activate the small electric motor at the base of his penis and change his tombstone to the Dumont network.

Danny Evins, founder of the Cracker Barrel restaurant, is now offering up his lowest priced meal to hungry travelers, this time in a pine box.

Evins named the Cracker Barrel after the practice of customers in Tennessee who gathered at country stores to gossip and play checkers on top of an empty barrel stuffed with dead civil rights workers.

After going public in 1981, the Cracker Barrel became a stock market darling with a certain investment sector. Unfortunately that sector dealt mainly with lap bands.

Year after year the restaurant won rave reviews in magazines like Nation’s Restaurant News and Destinations. And year after year people would not read magazines like Nation’s Restaurant News and Destinations.

In 1991 Evins ordered all his restaurants to fire employees “whose sexual preferences fail to demonstrate normal heterosexual values.” Ironically, the directive coincided with the introduction of his most popular southern confection to date, the “Lingam Pecan Log,” a fluffy, cherry-laced phallocentric nougat wrapped in fresh caramel and latex.

Evins’ last request was that his brain matter be inserted into old-fashioned glass jars and sold to hungry truck drivers up and down Interstate 40.

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Korean leader Kim Jong-il, who for 17 agonizing years revealed to the world the true nature behind most foreign film buffs, is now wearing a brown jumpsuit of dirt.

Jong-il reportedly died of a heart attack on a train while traveling between two popular famine areas.

A recent psychological evaluation by researchers at the University of Colorado concluded that Kim Jong-il shared the same personality disorders as Hitler, Stalin, and most talk show hosts.

During his reign, Kim Jong-il ruled over his citizens with a doughy fist, and was often referred to as the “Supreme Leader,” “our Father,” “Generalissimo,” and his favorite, “Fard Farkle.”

As he was groomed for office in the early 1990s, radio broadcasts started referring to him as “Dear Father,” instead of “Dear Leader,” suggesting he was either getting a promotion, or the country just wanted to borrow money for a date.

After taking power in 1994, he continued his father’s brutal policies and devoted much of his country’s scarce resources to building the world’s fifth-largest bouffant.

http://jimearl.com/Morning%20Rem.mp3Joseph L. Owades, the biochemist whose recipe for light beer achieved the impossible feat of making crappy beer even crappier, is now more stale than a Herman Cain pick-up line.

Fresh out of college, Owades got his first job researching for Fleischmann’s Yeast. Then he found out Fleischmann was one of his mom’s canasta friends and “Yeast” was another thing entirely.

In the 1950s he created the first “diet” beer by discovering an enzyme that destroys fat starches, and in the process, any reason for wanting to drink beer in the first place.

When Miller Brewing Co. bought his process they marketed the new beer with the familiar “tastes great, less filling” jingle, replacing the less successful “Hey! You gotta chug twice as much of this crap to get a buzz!” jingle.

Over the years Owades wrote over 40 research papers on beer, all of them supporting the same thesis that he’s okay to drive and nobody understands him.

Owades requested his body be brewed into a tasteless yellow liquid and poured directly into the toilet to save time.

http://jimearl.com/Morning%20Rem.mp3William Irwin Wolff, M.D., originator of the modern colonoscopy procedure now practiced in well-ventilated clinics around the world, has finally seen the murky light at the end of the long, disgusting tunnel.

After graduating from New York University in 1936, Wolff spent years pioneering the field of colonic investigation. Then he became a doctor.

He was the first to develop a safe method for examining the full length of the colon without having to first unhook it from the family Slip N’ Slide.

As a result, the relatively unknown surgeon “exploded from behind” to become the “Number One” expert on where “Number Twos” come from.

A dedicated intestinal surgeon, Wolff was known for diving headfirst into each procedure, barely stopping even to catch a breath. Friends say there was no impediment that could keep him from getting his hands dirty.

As president of the New York Surgical Society, Wolff published more than 120 scientific papers. All of them double-ply.

Wolff was a gifted speaker, and his colonoscopy lectures would often leave the audience gripping their seats.

Wolff’s procedure inspired several technological advances, the most useful being a wire loop attached to the end of the endoscopic device that doctors now use to remove car keys.

Wollf’s last request was that his sons might continue his legacy taint-free.

The 90 year-old Perry reportedly died while testing his latest invention, the “toaster-oven lure.”

On July 24, 1954 before dozens of witnesses, Perry used his Spoonplug 30 times to land 30 bass, setting a new world record. Not for fishing, but for holding the attention of dozens of people while doing something that boring.

During his career, Perry discovered two profound truths about outdoor sporting:

Steve Jobs, the computer pioneer who co-founded Apple and inspired people all over the world to think outside the box, is now stuck inside one.

Sources say just moments before his death, the ailing Jobs turned beige and dragged himself into the trash.

The news came as a shock to countless Apple fans, who still insist they’re not going to buy his death until a later version comes out.

Historians rate Jobs on a par with Thomas Edison. Mainly because they both loved to make silent movies of guys with big mustaches sneezing.

A true visionary, he was the first to see the real commercial potential behind the graphical user-interface. Especially when it was manufactured in Chinese sweat shops.

Among his many patents was the “Hockey-puck shaped mouse,” or as Chinese workers call it, “the only thing strong enough to snap my neck after securing the chord to an 8th floor railing so that I may leave this daily torture and finally taste the sweet relief that is death -mouse.”

Jobs recently fought hard for city planners to approve his new company headquarters built in the style of a spaceship. The hope was to attract non-union labor from Pluto who only eat discarded Zunes.

Jobs’ last wish was for Apple Police to search the surrounding neighborhood in order to find out which one of his employees accidentally took home his liver.

http://jimearl.com/Morning%20Rem.mp3Arch West, who 50 years ago took a warehouse full of cornmeal, MSG, and pork excretions, and turned it into the world’s first edible Superfund site, is now covered with an orange, crusty-coating of crispy death.

Doctors say dying was the only natural thing he did his whole life.

A company spokesperson denied West died while testing his latest creation, “Double-Fisted Kettle Cooked Carburetor-Cleaner Flavored Chips With Tangy Asbestos.”

A humble man by nature, West often declined to take full credit for Doritos’ inception in 1961, instead giving most of it to NASA’s helpful staff of Nazi chemists.

In 2008, the company launched their “out-of-this-world” advertising campaign, beaming a 30 second ad for Doritos into a planetary system 42 light years away. Their ultimate goal? To dissuade aliens from ever using us as their food source.

The family plans on tossing some Doritos over West’s urn before burying him, but not until they do marketing research on 5,000 other graves.

Like this:

http://jimearl.com/Morning%20Rem.mp3Ralph Edwards, the host and creator of “Truth or Consequences” and “This is Your Life,” two of the most popular shows in television history, has just created another hit, called “This is My Death.”

During the 1950’s, his shows were so popular, that a town in New Mexico re-named itself “Truth or Consequences.” Unfortunately the “truth” was that it was too close to a nuclear testing range, and the “consequences” were cancer.

Every installment of “This Is Your Life” started the same way. Edwards would surprise a hapless celebrity with the phrase “This is your life!” whereupon the celebrity would finally get the message his career was over.

Ruth Siems, the home economist who created Stove Top Stuffing and made it the most popular Thanksgiving leftover since vomit and domestic violence, died last week of a heart attack after “experimenting” with a vibrating turkey baster.

Stove Top Stuffing was first marketed by General Foods in March 1972, and proved to be so popular with the public, Nixon put it on his enemies list.

Friends say Siems first came up with the idea for Stove Top Stuffing while trying to figure out a way to make Thanksgiving more painful.

Easily prepared in just five minutes, Stove Top stuffing comes in a wide range of flavors, including “turkey,” “chicken,” “beef,” and “smelly uncle Harold.”

According to the official United States Patent description, Stove Top Stuffing’s secret lay in the crumb size. You see, if the dried bread crumb is too small, adding water to it makes a soggy mass; too large, and the result is gravel. In other words, people pay way too much attention to this kind of shit.

Siems requested her remains be toasted, crushed into eraser-sized lumps, and then rammed up the ass of a Butterball turkey so those cheap bastards at General Foods can finally taste the bitter revenge of a woman screwed out of 30 years of patent royalties.

Leo Kahn, founder of Staples and a pioneer in big-box retailing, is now a pioneer in pine-box decaying.

Kahn tragically died after a series of strokes. By the time doctors got to him, he was already canary yellow and covered with a unique, low-tack adhesive that allowed his body to be removed without leaving marks or residue –not unlike a pad of 3-inch square Post-it Brand notes. With prices like $2.99 for ten pads of 50 sheets each, it’s not hard to guess why this week is “Memo Mania Week”!

Kahn opened his first store in 1986 and offered every item you’d ever need in an office, from reams of copy paper to rape kits.

He soon discovered the secret to amazingly low prices was to first get products directly from the manufacturer –and then not tell them about it.

Today the chain generates over $27 billion a year, primarily because it gives millions of employees something easy to steal while their souls are being crushed at bank jobs.

Kahn requested his internal organs be cushioned in bubble wrap and grouped in highly visible, strategically located “pods” where customers can bring in their internal organs and refill their precious bodily ink fluids.

Ballas got the idea for his machine after watching spinning brushes at a local car wash. He wondered if the same principle that lets Americans underpay migrants who wash their cars could also inspire them to underpay migrants who piss off the neighborhood with noise and choking exhaust fumes.

Ballas soon began experimenting by poking holes in a tin can with fishing wire and attaching it to a rotary lawn edger. Seven maimed cats later, the “Pussy Eater” was born. But it wasn’t until someone suggested he use it on weeds that his invention really took off.

Ballas was the grandfather of Dancing With The Stars dancer Mark Ballas. Mark got the idea to become a dancer after watching a weed eater make everyone in his family so filthy rich they’d never again have to worry about getting a real job.

Ballas requested his remains be cremated and his ashes scattered in front of a leaf blower.

Thanks to Yurosek, Americans today are eating a lot more carrots than their parents did. They’re also eating a lot more insect parts and rat droppings, so I guess things have a way of balancing themselves out.

Yurosek was an active volunteer at religious organizations and could often be seen whittling down a knobby, misshapen crucifix into bite-sized pieces.

The deceased requested his body be dismembered, shaped into 2-inch segments, and pumped through pipes into a peeling tank for final polishing.

Rebecca Web Carranza, acknowledged creator of the first tortilla chip, died of a heart attack last month when she accidentally ate a priceless plate of nachos in the shape of the Virgin Mary.

Witnesses say her body was found cracked and soggy, lying face down in a half-eaten bowl of picante sauce surrounded by a bunch of teenage boys too shy to leave the snack table to go mingle with the girls standing by the keg.

Relatives say there’s no truth to the rumor she died after breaking her hip on an unusually heavy chunk of guacamole.

Carranza’s Los Angeles tortilla shop was the favorite of many celebrities. Eddie “Rochester” Anderson, who played Jack Benny’s valet on radio and television, would often buy a bag of her chips and then swallow them whole to create his horribly painful voice.

Carranza requested her remains be stored in an airtight, plastic bag for freshness, until the time comes when she must be covered with cheese under a heat lamp.

Witnesses say he died after an irate customer rammed a crowbar into his mouth-slot when he refused to dispense fifty dollars.

News of his death couldn’t be confirmed until four days after he was deposited at the morgue because the bank said they had to put a hold on his corpse.

Barron said he came up with the idea for ATMs after being locked out of his bank. He also said his invention was inspired by candy vending machines. Which begs the question: Which story is it, asshole?

In a recent interview, the 84 year-old Scottish inventor recalled how the original machines were so primitive, they only dispensed haggis.

Here’s an interesting factoid: the world’s highest ATM is located in Tibet at 5,000 meters.

The world’s lowest ATM is located 400 meters below sea level near the Dead Sea.

And the world’s stickiest is in Amsterdam. It is literally packed with semen.

Barron requested his body be dried and molded into a hard protective case containing four trays of twenty-dollar bills. Then placed near any dark area where people may gather to get robbed or kidnapped.

Atkins lived a quiet, middle-class existence during her early years, singing in her church choir and helping out with numerous charity stabbings.

After running away from home, the teenage Atkins was fortunate enough to meet up with our lord and savior, Jesus Christ, who asked her to live with him at Spahn’s Ranch.

It was there that Jesus taught her the finer points of robbery, murder, and pitching songs to music executives.

Atkins bragged that at the crime scene she tasted the blood of Sharon Tate. But what she didn’t know was that Tex Watson secretly replaced the blood of Tate with that of coffee heiress Abigail Folger. And believe you me, she could tell the difference.

Relatives and loved-ones can console themselves with the thought that Susan is now up in heaven giving gonorrhea to Dennis Wilson.

A family spokesperson said Neuhauser died of Myelodysplastic syndrome, a blood disease so hard to spell many doctors refuse to cure it.

In 1925 the eleven year-old Neuhauser won first prize by correctly spelling the word “gladiolus.” He then promptly returned home to endless schoolyard beatings because he correctly spelled the word “gladiolus.”

First prize included a trip to the White House to meet President Calvin Coolidge, where he quickly learned the word “boring.”

Since then, it’s been a tradition for contest winners to visit the president in office, including George W. Bush, who still insists “LMNOP” is one letter.

Neuhauser also won $500 in gold and a bicycle, which in today’s values would be equal to around $500 in gold and a bicycle.

Neuhauser requested his body be used in a sentence and buried within two minutes and thirty seconds.

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Ben Hogan, considered the greatest golfer in the history of sports, is dead after suffering a massive pulmonary embolism, or the kind of stroke from which no golfer could ever recover.

Hogan first discovered golf during puberty when he hit two good balls after stepping on a rake.

Even after enduring countless jokes like that, Hogan remained dedicated to the sport. And during the succeeding years he often spent the days “noodling” with his “little putter” in order to cut a “hard wood.” For extra hilarity, please re-read that last sentence aloud while emphasizing the words in quotes.

He finally won his first tournament in 1938. But the winnings were slim back in the depression and all he received for his effort was a bowl of soup and a tumbleweed.

Hogan’s life was not without hardship. During his later years, he suffered from elephantiasis and had to carry his bag around in a wheelbarrow.

During his illustrious career, Hogan won 63 tournaments, including nine major championships. But perhaps his greatest accomplishment was making golf the second most tedious sport to watch on TV after bowling.

For those of you not familiar with golf, the object of the game is to propel a small ball around a lawn using as little physical exertion as possible while making foreign policy decisions prolonging the Vietnam War.

Hogan requested his mashie niblet be preserved in a jar of formaldehyde right next to his father’s mummified cleek..

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Don Fisher, whose company’s slogan, “Fall into the Gap,” became synonymous with the dread most people feel when they realize there’s no other place in town to buy jeans, fell into another gap recently -this one 4 feet wide and 6 feet deep.

Doctors say Fisher died at his home in San Francisco after a long battle with taste.

Fisher opened the first Gap in 1969 with little more than a pocket full of gumption and an insatiable desire to measure the unspeakably scandalous distance between the bottom of a man’s cuff and the tip of his penis.

His stores soon caught on and became as commonplace as McDonald’s. Even so, you still couldn’t get cancer by eating one of Fisher’s pants.

An avid art collector, Mr. Fisher was known for his vast collection of paintings -now housed at the Museum of Modern Art in the “Sickening Pastels Wing.”

Fisher asked that his body be washed in cold water, cremated on low, and immediately removed from the oven to avoid wrinkling.